


Sometimes it All Seems so Pointless

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Horror, Insanity, M/M, Post Gauda Prime, black magic, horror movie violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Avon accepts that he's insane, then learning black magic to get Blake back seems only logical.</p><p>But perhaps it's really not such a good idea.</p><p>It might work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pointless

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Blake was dead, and so was Avon. Well, not quite yet. Avon had managed a deal with Servalan. Not much of one. She let him continue to enjoy the benefits of oxygen, food, water, and an un-maimed body.

In return, he worked on 'projects' during the day, and serviced her whenever she had a whim. She was sterile, which relieved his mind of one small source of possible guilt. At least he wasn't helping her found a dynasty.

Once she regained power, she gave him free access to all the technical resources the Federation had to offer. Free, but with armed mutoids and scientists looking over his shoulder every moment. Free up until she decided to kill him. Free except that if he left the secure compound in the heart of her empire he'd be slaughtered by Blake's rebels who'd sworn to avenge Blake no matter what it took. Hardly a week went by without one trying a suicide run. He could sometimes hear the explosions as they were intercepted.

He really shouldn't have killed Blake. And not just because it led to this. He'd thought about it quite a lot, while mindlessly satisfying Servalan. He had wanted Blake. That was what it had all been about. The quarrels, the confrontations, the back-and-forth of banter interspersed with high emotions...the feel of Blake's body in his arms the few times they actually touched. He had wanted Blake. Maybe Blake knew it, and used it against him. Maybe Blake was as unaware as Avon—up until that last moment. Avon had read it in Blake's eyes as, dying, he held onto Avon for support and looked at him with an anger directed at fate, or at Avon's stupidity, but not at Avon. 

It was unacceptable. Avon refused to accept it. Blake shouldn't be dead. And therefore he _wouldn't_ be dead. In some quiet moments, late at night, Avon realized that he was insane. But that didn't matter. Blake must not be dead. Having stated the problem, all he had to do was devise a solution.

He could demand Servalan commission a clone of Blake. Have it programmed with all Blake's memories. But... not only would Servalan insist on _using_ it... and he found that he disliked the political uses even more than the personal ones, because Blake would have hated that more.... but it wouldn't be Blake. No matter how perfect a copy, it wouldn't be Blake.

The same went, to an even greater degree, for androids and other simulacra. 

He toyed with the idea of somehow using a teleport matrix to recreate Blake. That failed because while he had recreated the teleport, and obtained the use of Orac, the original data was lost. And still... would it really be Blake? He had to have the real thing.

Go back in time somehow and prevent Blake's death? Orac didn’t think that impossible, but refused to cooperate on the grounds that changing the past might set up temporal instabilities that would... Avon didn't care, but Orac refused, and he had no leverage to force it. Also, it would have been impossible to hide the device from Servalan for the length of time it would take to perfect it.

All right, then, science and logic failed. What else was there? Illogic and...magic? Avon kept pushing the thought aside, because it was so abhorrent to his nature. And then he remembered a planet where the impossible had happened. He'd witnessed it. Giroc and Sinofar had worked what he'd call miracles, if he hadn't decided that 'inexplicable' was a more comfortable description.

They had possessed both a planet full of corpses and incredible power. Was there a connection? He mused and studied, and used Orac to research myths, legends and other illogic until the computer was sputtering with indignation.

Death was the answer, he finally decided. There was a balance to the equation. If he wanted Blake alive, he had to kill someone equal and opposite.

And he had to do it the right way, with the proper rituals and tools in the proper time and place.

***

Servalan screamed a long, long time before she died, but no one heard her except Avon. The cellars beneath her mansion had been quite efficiently soundproofed. He did all the things the ritual required. It wasn't easy, but he had become accustomed to making his body obey repugnant demands. Finally he stood over her mutilated corpse and used his silver athame to cut precise designs, disgusting, horrible symbols that glittered poison green in the dank air as he shouted his desire, his request, his demand.

And nothing happened. 

Frustrated he turned to Orac. "What have I overlooked? What have I done wrong? The sacrifice..." Avon looked back at Servalan. "Of course. She meant nothing to me." Avon picked up Orac and placed it between Servalan's legs. "Orac...you know."

The computer started to protest. Avon pulled the key and reset the explosive charge he'd placed in Orac years ago. Now it could be remotely triggered. For a moment he paused, control in hand. Would it be enough? 

Well, if not, he could always kill himself. But try this first. He retreated to the far side of the cellar and sat down on the dusty floor. "Goodbye, Orac."

The explosion brought down half the cellar and stunned Avon. He lay there gasping, choking on dust, with his ears ringing.

"You never did do things by halves, Avon," Blake said as he pulled Avon from the rubble.

"Blake!" Avon hugged him and tried to kiss him.

Blake pulled back. "Avon, what is it? What's wrong with you?" Blake looked the same as he had on Gauda Prime, moments before Avon shot him. 

"Blake?" Avon hesitated. A horrible feeling crawled in his stomach. "Blake?"

"You already said that." Blake ran his hand through his hair. "Come on, we've got to get out of here before Servalan's guards come." He started up the half-collapsed stairs.

"Blake. I did it for you. I... I..."

Blake turned back to look at him. "No time for that now, Avon. Come on."

Avon stared wordlessly around for a few seconds. And then he followed Blake.


	2. Getting the Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake's return is really not what Avon expected.

Blake gazed at Avon over the small fire that crackled between them, casting shadows into the night. "Aren't you hungry?" He ripped a hind leg from a scorched rabbit carcass and held it out.

Avon shook his head. "I still can't believe we made it out. We shouldn't have. There were so many guards. And neither of us was armed." Blake cracked his knuckles and Avon flinched, remembering the sound of vertebrae breaking, the sight of Blake's expressionless face as he efficiently killed a guard in order to take his uniform. Avon's skin crawled as he remembered Blake tossing the uniform to him, still warm from body heat, and matter-of-factly ordering him to put it on.

"Perhaps we were lucky." Blake's teeth tore into the half-cooked flesh of rabbit.

"You were always lucky," Avon muttered, looking away from Blake's gaze. The one eye he could clearly see was as calm as if they were sitting on the flight deck of _Liberator_ in neutral space.

Blake scratched idly at the scruff of beard he wore. "Of course I was, Avon. I got what I paid for."

"What?" Avon looked at Blake, confusion almost overriding the dull apathy that had swamped him since Blake had returned from the dead, just the same as always. Just... the same. And Avon meaning as much, or as little, to him as always.

Blake laughed, and as he threw his head back, Avon saw a glint of red in the damaged eye. "You have to know how to manipulate them, Avon, to get the best of them." He rubbed at his damaged eye. Ruefully he added, "Even then they're spiteful little bastards."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Blake tossed the stripped bone into the fire. "Avon." For the first time, there was an edge of affection in his voice. "Didn't it ever occur to you that it passed the reasonable bounds of probability ...everything that happened to me—that I should be placed with a group containing everyone I needed? That _Liberator_ should appear... _magically_ just when and where I needed it?"

Avon shook his head. Terror, unreasoning terror, was beginning to cut through the numbness. "No. I... there was never time. I just... took each day as it came."

Blake shrugged. "They like to play tricks. I didn't remember my bargain until after you'd made yours." He looked reminiscent. "And they're greedy bastards. First they took my rebel cell. That got me through my first arrest and mind-wiping. Then Foster and his group bought me passage on the _London_. Nova paid for _Liberator_." Blake wiped his greasy hands on his thighs.

Avon said softly, "I don't believe you."

Blake smiled, and the red glint in his bad eye flickered brighter. "It was a shame about Gan. It was nice having someone around who believed in me without lusting after my body. But I would never have found Star One without the sacrifice."

"You didn't kill Gan."

"No, not deliberately. But he still died because of me, my orders, my will." Blake looked at Avon. "Jenna died to bring you back to me."

Avon swallowed hard. "I don't think that was beneficial to you."

"Of course it was. I was just... idling on Gauda Prime. I was tired. I had withdrawn from the main battle lines, content to skirmish on the outer edges of nowhere. I needed to be thrust back into the thick of things. The people I'd gathered around me...even Deva... I quite liked Deva... they were all sacrifices, too. Like everyone who's thrown their lot in with me. They all should have expected to be sacrificed for the cause; it's not as if I promised them safety.

"My bargain was for the overthrow of the Federation. What was yours, Avon?"

Avon looked at Blake and then away, disconcerted by that ruby gleam. Softly, he said, "You." 

Blake laughed. "Look at me, Avon." Unwillingly, Avon felt his head turn. Blake stood up and began undressing, first the trooper uniform and then his own baggy clothes; he always wore baggy clothes. "I need you, Avon," he said, his voice soft and irresistible. "I will always need you."

Avon felt a cold like shafts of ice in his spine. Blake was ruddy in the firelight. His chest was smooth. His legs were powerfully muscled and very hairy. His feet... weren't feet. Avon's mind was in hysterics, and it cast back, trying to remember... yes. He'd seen Blake's bare feet once, on Terminal. They'd been human...oh. That was... Servalan's electronic dream. The dream he'd abetted because he wanted Blake so badly. But still. Blake couldn't have been like this all along. Someone would have known. Someone...

Blake raked his tangled curls back and Avon saw the glint of ... bone? No. Horn. Small unobtrusive beige horns. Sharp and angled back. Something moved behind Blake in a serpentine slither. A tail. Leathery and terminated in a spade-shaped end.

"I'm insane," Avon said with the last rags of his control. "Therefore none of this is happening."

Blake smiled. His teeth were discreetly pointed. "That could be the case. But, on the other hand," Blake said as he began undressing Avon. "There's no reason you can't be insane, and this be real, too."

Blake pressed himself against Avon. He said, "You paid for me. And you shall have me." 

Avon felt Blake growing. And growing.

The screams startled the wildlife for a mile around.


End file.
